Four palace guards—only two currently standing—faced two figures who were dressed like outguards, although outguards with metal armor over the heavy gambesons they wore when traveling. A man as large and broad as a bear on two legs hauled a palace guard into the air before batting her sword from her hand and sending her flying.
She landed not far from Tiiran, moaning pitifully. Several of her bones had to be broken.
One of palace guards already on the ground was trying to rise. The bear turned to him while reaching for the sword on his back. Before it was fully drawn, the figure behind him leapt forward, a slender sword in either hand. Both swords were bloodied.
Tiiran again ducked behind the safety of the barrels. The barrels did not shield him from the quick, efficient sounds of someone being disarmed, and then, he assumed, run through or otherwise dispatched.
“Rather useless armor they choose,” the bear rumbled. “Appearances more than practicality.” One large boot, a knife tucked into the top, appeared in Tiiran’s line of sight as the fallen palace guard was scooped up. “The others are already being freed.” Orin’s measured, coaxing tones were terrifying in this space. “You have one chance left, and that onlyifhe’s alive. At least—” the guard was dangled in the air. Orin’s voice did not change “—that’s with me. I can’t speak for the pup.”
Orin tossed the whimpering guard to the ground. His boot disappeared from Tiiran’s view. Tiiran slipped out from under the table on his knees to follow, only to freeze as two palace guards came charging out of the stairwell and ran straight into Nikoly.
Nikoly, who darted neatly out of their way with nearly no sound, then dashed forward to slash and stab and withdraw again. Palace Guard armor was as useless as Orin had deemed it. But the palace guards’ weapons weren’t. Those were very real.
Tiiran caught a glimpse of shining, wet red and then one of the palace guards laughed in almost shocked surprise. Before Tiiran could determine why, Orin had pulled Nikoly back by the scruff of his neck with one hand and moved to take his place. Then he unsheathed his sword. He only carried the one but it was massive; Tiiran wouldn’t have been able to lift it.
The laughing guard and the one with him fled before the sight. Tiiran didn’t blame them, although he also didn’t feel sorry for them as he listened to their frantic scurry up into the stairwell and then their startled screams before they tumbled back down again, possibly dead or dying. Two other figures, also dressed as outguard, followed them down.
“All right here?” one of the newcomers asked Orin—but while staring at Nikoly.
Orin stared at Nikoly too, bleeding and starkly beautiful, but waved his friends off with a soft snarl. “We’ll check this level. Go on.”
Then he had a hand at Nikoly’s throat and Nikoly pushed to the wall, as if Orin didn’t care that Nikoly held a sword in each hand and apparently knew how to wield them.
“That was reckless.” Orin did not relax his grip or so much as glance to the two palace guards still to be dealt with in the corridor with them. Although neither of the guards seemed to be moving except to breathe.
Nikoly stared back at Orin, eyes narrowed, jaw tight, a line across one cheek spilling blood that dripped onto Orin’s wrist. Orin didn’t let go.
“I have to find him,” Nikoly spoke through his teeth. “They have him. I know it.”
“Reckless,” Orin said again, hauling Nikoly in just to shove him back against the wall. “You will take care or I will make you take care.” He pushed Nikoly to the wall again, and when Nikoly objected with a low, animal sound, Orin leaned in. He was breathing hard. “And if you are dead?”
Nikoly looked to the side, then back at him. “If he…”
“He wouldn’t want you hurt, pup.” Orin’s tone softened and he released Nikoly’s throat to let his hand hover over Nikoly’s bloodied cheek. “Neither do I.”
Nikoly stared at him for a beat longer, then dropped his head. “I’m sorry.”
That was likely meant only for Orin to hear, but Tiiran knew Nikoly and could hear it even when he only saw Nikoly’s lips shape the words. Then Nikoly brought his gaze back up and Orin’s hand returned his throat.
They were close enough to share breath. Tiiran watched, mouth open, breathing with them.
“Fighting gets the blood up,” Orin said out of nowhere, to whom, Tiiran didn’t know, but it had the sound of an apology. As if it was the time to offer explanations, and the two of them did not stand amid a hall full of fallen guards. Orin stepped back. “You’re good, as I knew you would be. But if you act like that again, I’ll tell him.”
“You can’t,” Nikoly insisted urgently, head up, out of breath as he hadn’t been before. “Orin, please. You can’t. This isn’t who he thinks I am. He’ll be…”
“Worried, pup.” Orin lowered his arm and made a fist. “He’ll be worried.”
“That’s worse than furious,” Nikoly continued, but settled his face into the fierce mask he’d worn when he had first rushed in.
Then he spotted Tiiran.
Nikoly took a step forward, only to flinch and stop. His eyes were wide, his lips parted. He drew in a shaky breath before cleaning his swords in long, smooth strokes against his clothes and sheathing them at his back. He swallowed, still staring at Tiiran. Orin turned to see what had his attention.
“Tiiran,” Nikoly’s voice was again soft and familiar, “is that you?”
Tiiran scrambled to stand, bumping into the table and wobbling on his feet. Then he could barely breathe with arms hard around his chest and hands pressed to his shoulders. His feet left the floor, were returned to it, then left it again. His ribs creaked. He shuddered into Nikoly’s warmth and put his face to Orin’s chest, mildly annoyed to find mail and not the fabric of a gambeson, but not enough to move away even if he’d been able to.
Orin’s breath was in his hair and Nikoly was kissing his temple, over and over, and Tiiran thought them both fools, because he was wretched and dirty, but his throat was tight and he wasn’t cold anymore, so if they didn’t have sense, he wasn’t going to remind them.
